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Tuesday, February 4, 2020

The day is finally here...my mother's 90th birthday, and the release day for Out of Bounds! I wasn't sure I had another book in me, but here it is. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Enjoy!

He fell for another man.

Then he met the perfect woman…

Chapter 1

The Kickoff

I stole another peek at him, praying
to God I could keep my ass in the chair instead of grabbing him and kissing him
senseless.

Yep. He was still there and still as
irresistible as ever. Those big, brown puppy-dog eyes and dark, tousled hair drove
me absolutely wild—every single day. I was dying to tangle my fingers in that
hair when I kissed him, gliding my tongue between his soft, sensuous lips. Lying
with my head on his stomach while I devoured him would be sheer heaven. I
wanted his cock hard and slick in my mouth. Wanted to feel his body tighten
right before he came in my face. Then I wanted to get lost inside him and never
find my way out.

I would be
careful—never hurt him or be too rough. I would take time to explore his body,
making love with him gently at first, and then harder and harder until he was
groaning and screaming in ecstasy. I wanted him to be mine—all mine—forever. I
wanted him bad.

Of course, if he’d
had any idea what I was thinking he’d probably punch my lights out—and who
could blame him? The best I could tell, he wasn’t into guys. He liked girls,
and it was my tough luck that I happened to be a guy. I usually liked girls
myself, but this guy, this delightful David, made me wish we were both gay. But
we weren’t, and knowing we could never be more than friends was just about to
kill me.

David. It wasn’t even a name I
particularly cared for, being a bit overused. I wouldn’t name my son that, for
example, preferring something a bit less traditional, although for some reason it
suited him perfectly. His last name was Adams, which was also fairly common,
but what’s in a name? David, by any other name, would have been every bit as
sweet, every bit as enticing, and every bit as irresistible.

He was beautiful.
Hell, he even smelled nice. Not like some guys I’d hung out with over the
years. Made me wonder how they ever got laid. Women don’t like shit like that. They
like their men fresh and clean, not stinky and scuzzy. At least, that was my
take on the subject.

Women liked me
okay. I’d dated quite a few in my time—maybe not as many as I had during my
playing days when the media referred to me as Kyle “Golden Arm” Sorenson—but
several. Sometimes a woman would hang around for a while, although most of them
didn’t. Of course, I’d never loved any of them, which was probably why they
never stayed very long. I’d been alone for a couple of years now, and lately I
hadn’t even been looking—mainly because of the distraction sitting at the desk
beside me.

I tried to figure
out exactly what it was about him that was so fascinating, but I had no idea,
really. He was beautiful in the male sense of the word—not feminine at all—so
that wasn’t it. I only knew that every time I’d try to tear my eyes away from
him, almost before I realized it, they’d go creeping back in his direction. He
was so cute, so hot, so adorable.

I’d never
considered men to be adorable—or cute. Babies were adorable. Baby rabbits and
puppies were cute, but not you-make-me-want-to-fuck-you cute.

The worst part was
the office we shared was so damned small, I couldn’t help bumping into him once
in a while. Well, okay, so maybe I was starting to look for ways to do it on
purpose, because I sure as hell couldn’t tell him how much I craved his touch. I
wanted him naked in my lap while I fondled his cock or leaning back against my
chest with my arms around him, his dick in one hand and his balls in the
other—in my hands, I mean. He could put his own anywhere he wanted.

Hearing David
saying to me, “Man, you are so hot. I’d love to get my hands on you sometime,”
would be a dream come true.

Dream on, Kyle. Not gonna happen. No way, no
how.

Even that pearl of
wisdom didn’t stop me from fantasizing. The trouble was with my penis in fucking
mode all the time, I was having difficulty concentrating on anything else. After
all, David and I did have work
to do, but I couldn’t help wishing maybe someday we could take a break and go
suck each other off in the men’s room. Or maybe the women’s room. That would
freak them out, wouldn’t it? Then again, some of them might stay to watch
us—might even help out a bit. Maybe that hot, leggy blonde who worked down the
hall. We could both go down on him together. She could suck his balls while I
sucked his cock.

No. That was no good, because I really
didn’t want to share him with anyone. I wanted his hot little ass all to
myself.

My attraction to
him wasn’t only about sex. I really, truly liked him. He was kind, he was
funny, and the way he cut through the bullshit was refreshing. He was lovable,
warm, and—charming? Is that the right word? I think so—either that or engaging.
I had no idea what other people thought of him, but I couldn’t understand why
the whole damn world wasn’t as crazy about him as I was.

I toyed with the
idea of putting in for a transfer so I wouldn’t have him in my face every day,
having to look at him, smell him, hear his voice, listen to the rhythm of his
breathing—even the tap of his fingers on the keyboard. Blocking him out was impossible.
Besides, I didn’t want him to think I was ignoring him or didn’t like him. The
fear of hurting his feelings had kept me quiet so far, and I certainly wasn’t
going to mess it up by blabbing about it now. I tried to be a good friend,
because I wanted him to think of me kindly, even if I couldn’t hope for more. I
spent a good, solid hour at the gym every night trying to work him out of my
mind—and I’d still go home to my empty house and jack off thinking about him.

I tried checking
out the other men at the gym—believeme, I tried—but they didn’t
do a damned thing for me. They never had, and God knows I’d seen plenty of
naked jocks in locker rooms through the years. I mean, I normally liked women
as much as the next guy, and I still did, so why David? What the hell was wrong
with me? Was I gay, straight, bisexual, or confused?

The Friday before
Labor Day was long and frustrating. My damned computer kept spitting things
back at me, locking up, or shutting down altogether. I’d missed lunch, was
starving to death, and the back of my neck felt like it was on fire. I had my
fingers on the keyboard and had dropped my head down to stretch my neck in a
desperate attempt to get some relief, when I felt his hands on me.

“Hurts right here,
doesn’t it?” he asked as his fingers ran intuitively over the center of my
pain.

“Yeah,” I replied,
which was about all I could say, because his touch was sending a wave of
thrills throughout every fiber of my being. My brain turned to pulp and I
couldn’t think of another thing to say. Nothing remarkable or witty, which
wasn’t too surprising since I’d never been known for my clever tongue. My
post-game interviews were notorious for being composed of one cliché after
another.

He didn’t ask if I
wanted it, didn’t ask my permission, but began a slow, deep massage of my neck
and back, and before long, I was practically in tears with relief, along with a
healthy dose of sexual arousal. And then David, my charming, adorable David,
had the audacity to say, “You need to loosen up, Kyle. You’re way too tense.”

Understatement of the year.

“No shit. I work
out all the time and it doesn’t do any good. What do you suggest? Herbal tea? Meditation?”
I knew what I would have liked to suggest, although going down on him at
that point was totally out of the question.

“Might help,” he
conceded. “But I was thinking more along the lines of going home and having a
beer or something.”

“Yeah, well, that
couldn’t hurt either. I—what time is it?”

“Quarter ’til
five.” His gurgle of laughter brought a warm flush to my face. “We’re almost
out of here for the long weekend, buddy. Got any plans?”

“Nope.” This was
nothing new. I never seemed to have “plans” anymore. “Just gonna go home and
crash, I guess. Although I have plenty of work to do there.” I always
had work to do at home. Sometimes I wondered if it wasn’t the only thing keeping
me sane. There’s a lot to be said for hammering and drilling and sawing and
painting and—

“Want some
company?”

“Sure,” I replied
before I had the chance to register what he’d meant.

“Got beer?”

“Some.” I shrugged.
“Might not be what you’d like, though.” David still had his hands on my neck,
and I was almost to the wet rag stage—except for my dick, which was as hard as
ever and oozing all over my shorts. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

“I’m not
particular,” he said. “Any beer will do.”

“We can always get
more,” I said, although I knew that getting drunk with David around was a bad
idea—a very bad idea. I might end up doing something really stupid, and
the devastation I would feel when I saw the horrified look on his face if I’d
ever come on to him wouldn’t be worth it. Then again, since it took several
beers to get me even the slightest bit tipsy, I could probably risk drinking
one or two.

“Think it’ll take
that much?” he asked.

“What do you
mean?”

David shrugged. “To
loosen you up.”

“Shit, I don’t
know,” I mumbled. “Actually, you’re doing a pretty good job there, David. I don’t
think I’ll need any beer if you’ll do more of that when we get to my place.”

“Sure, Kyle,” he
replied. “Anything you like.”

I choked back a
sob. He couldn’t possibly have known what I wanted—his nonchalant response
proved that much—and I’d certainly be the last one to ever tell him. Women
usually seem pleased if you act like you’re interested, but this was so different. Guys don’t ever want
anyone thinking they’re gay, and they don’t want to attract the interest of
anyone who is. I didn’t consider myself to be gay—at least, not in the
strictest sense of the word. Like I said before, I didn’t prefer men in
general; I only had the hots for David.

“Actually, one
beer is plenty for me,” David said. “More than that and I get—well, I’ll tell
you about that some other time.”

I couldn’t imagine
anything worse than what I was thinking of doing to him, although everyone has their
limits. I began to rethink the idea of letting him come over. I should have
come up with some excuse, should have lied…

“Aren’t you going to
ask me to explain that?” He gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Aren’t you the least
bit curious?”

I dropped my head
again. Of course I was curious. I wanted to know everything about him, right
down to how often he trimmed his fingernails. I wanted to know every detail—from
the momentous to the mundane—especially the things no one else would ever know.
His deepest secrets, his hopes and dreams, his failings and his strengths. I
wanted to know all of those things, but in all honesty, I hardly knew anything
about him—including how to reply to what he’d just asked me without saying the
wrong thing.

“I figure you’ll
tell me when you want to,” I said with what I hoped was an indifferent shrug. “I
can’t force you to talk.”

“True.” His
fingers trailed over my back, up my neck, and then into my hair, almost as
though he’d forgotten what he was doing. “So, what do you say? We spend the
weekend crashing at your place?”

The entire Labor
Day weekend? How could I possibly get through three days with David in my
house?

The answer was
quite simple, because if I drank even one beer, he’d probably be gone within
moments, owing to the fact that I didn’t think I’d be able to keep my hands off
him. Simply being alone with him in my house would probably be enough; I
wouldn’t have to take that first sip to be all over him. David had his hands on
me already and all I could think of was how much I wanted to turn around, wrap
one arm around his hips and unzip his fly with the other hand. Then I’d play
with his dick, licking and sucking it until he shot his load. The mere thought
sent an involuntary shudder of desire through me.

His hands froze on
my back. “Don’t like that idea?”

“N–no, yes,” I
stammered. “That’s not what I meant. I think it sounds great. I haven’t done
that sort of thing since college.”

“Me, either.” The
wistful note in his voice was impossible to miss. “I used to love hanging
around the dorm with the guys on weekends, doing whatever we felt like. I miss
that.”

I’d have been
willing to bet he’d never done any of the things that I was thinking about
doing with him while he lived in the dorm. No, the guys he’d hung out with had
probably gone out chasing girls all weekend. That’s what I’d done—when I wasn’t
studying, or working out, or going to football practice, that is. We all wanted
to get laid back then, but we liked being together too. Goofing off and doing
stupid stuff.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Those
were the days.” Viewed from the perspective of the ripe old age of thirty-six,
my college days were on the verge of becoming a distant memory.

“So, can I take
that as a yes?”

“Sure,” I replied.
“Like I said, it sounds great.”

“Okay, then,” he
said with the most exuberance yet. “I’ll run by my place, pick up a few things,
and be right over.”

I wrote down my
address and told him how to find it. Then I went home and spent the next hour
or so trying to convince myself that I wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake
of my life.

***

When I opened the door for him, I
couldn’t help staring. He had on an ancient sweatshirt with Whatsamata U and a picture of Bullwinkle
the Moose on the front of it. Somewhere along the line he’d cut out the neck
and the waistband and chopped the sleeves off just below the elbow. My eyes
swept downward, taking in the chinos and flip-flops that completed his
ensemble. Carrying some spare clothes stuffed into a grocery bag, a sack full
of snacks, and a six-pack of Michelob Lager, he was simply irresistible.

He flashed a warm,
ingenuous smile at me, let out an enthusiastic, “Hey, Kyle!” and I fell in love
with him all over again. Fighting an overwhelming urge to take him in my arms
and kiss him until he melted, I stood back from the door while he breezed on
past me, chatting the whole way.

He walked straight
into my kitchen as though he’d known exactly where it was. “I didn’t know what
you’d like, so I got whatever looked good to me. We can always go shopping for
more. Oh, yeah, and this beer is cold.” He plunked it down on the counter. “No
time like the present.”

I watched,
spellbound, as David pulled out a bottle, twisted off the cap and chugged it
down faster than many a college frat boy. Of course, that was essentially what
he was—or had been—and not so long ago either, since I guessed him at somewhere
in his late twenties. The smile I received after that was even bigger than the
first one. Honest to Pete, it was all I could do to keep breathing.

“Haven’t done that
for a while.” He chuckled. “And you can’t make me leave now, ’cause I’d be too
drunk to drive.”

Clearing my
throat, I asked in a voice that sounded a lot like it had when I was going
through puberty, “Why would I make you leave?” Now that he was there, I toyed
with the idea of locking the door and swallowing the damned key so he couldn’t
get away.

He gave me a mischievous
smile. “Well, I did warn you about what I’d do after one beer.”

“No, you didn’t,”
I said. “You told me you’d tell me later.”

“Oh, yes, I guess
I did.”

After a long,
silent moment, I finally asked, “Well, are you?”

“What?”

“Going to tell
me?”

“In a minute,” he
replied. “It hasn’t had time to hit me yet.”

I let out a long
groan. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re a mean drunk. I can’t stand that shit.”

He pitched the
bottle into the trash can. “Me, either. Nasty drunks are the pits. And, no, I
don’t get mean.”

I stood there
staring at him, waiting for him to go on, or get drunk enough to tell me, or
something. When he didn’t, I shrugged and picked up the shopping bag and opened
it. Chips, hot dogs and buns, summer sausage, pretzels and—my personal
favorite—Cheez-Its. The BIG ones, and a can of sharp cheddar Easy Cheese to go
with them. I came within a heartbeat of asking him to marry me right then and
there. He’d even gotten the right kind of beer.

“Everything okay?”
He peered into the bag. “Like I said, I wasn’t sure what you might like.”

He was so close,
the scent of him filled my head, sending it spinning off to God knew where. Somehow,
I managed to speak. “No, you did great. All the right stuff.”

His shoulders
dropped in apparent relief as he pulled another beer from the carton, twisted off
the cap, and handed it to me. “You need to get started. I don’t like to drink
alone.” He cleared his throat and continued in a much deeper tone, “Never drink
alone, Kyle. Someone always finds out and it ruins your reputation.”Obviously noting my blank expression,
he said, “Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind—with a few modifications. Haven’t you ever seen that
movie?”

“No,” I replied. “I
guess I should, though.”

“It has everything
in it you need to know—or quote. The only movie that’s got more quotable lines
is The Godfather, except I don’t like that one. Too violent. Of course,
my personal favorite for quotes is The Frisco Kid. Not as universally
recognized, but loads of fun.” His voice changed again, switching to something
sort of Yiddish. “So, wha’do ya say we go out an’ have a little fun?”In his normal voice, he added, “Not a
direct quote, of course, but close.”

I was still
staring at him, completely and utterly fascinated as he moved briskly about my
kitchen, making himself right at home as he stowed all the things he’d brought
either in the fridge or the cabinets.

“Hey, aren’t you
going to drink that?” He gestured toward my bottle of Michelob. “Come on now,
Kyle. Drink it all down. You’ve got some catching up to do. We’re gonna have
fun, remember?”

I felt like I’d
been dropped into an episode of The Twilight Zone. Even though I’d
worked side by side with him for a good while now, this was an aspect of his
personality I’d never known existed, and I liked it—a lot. If he’d been
actively trying to make me fall for him, he couldn’t have adopted a better
strategy.

Then a terrifying
thought struck me. He wouldn’t get nasty the more he drank; he would simply become
more and more adorable. Would I be able to stand it? I was about to blurt out
something—I have no idea what—when he started giggling.

“Oh, here it comes,”
he announced. “The hot flash.”

And with that, as
I stood there watching him with my eyes practically popping out of their
sockets, he pulled off his sweatshirt, laid it across the back of a kitchen
chair, kicked off his flip-flops, and had his pants around his feet in less
time than it takes to tell it. For a moment, I was convinced that my daydreams had
taken on a life of their own.

“Hope you don’t
mind,” he said, “but after one beer, I get hot and have to take off all my
clothes.” I couldn’t imagine what else he might need to add to that, but,
unbelievably, he went on. “After two beers, I’ll be sucking your cock, and
after three”—he stopped there and gave me a huge grin—“I’ll be down on my hands
and knees begging you to fuck me in the ass.”

I blinked and
glanced down at the bottle in my hand. I couldn’t possibly have taken more than
a couple of swallows so there was no way I was intoxicated enough to hallucinate.
I had to be insane. I stole another peek at him, and David, my adorable David,
was standing before me with the most stunning hard-on this world has ever seen,
and he’d just said… “What?”

He tossed me
another grin before repeating his words slowly and distinctly, “One beer:
naked. Two beers: sucking your cock. Three beers: begging you to fuck my ass.” He
paused a second or two before adding with a sweeping gesture that encompassed
his entire, gorgeous self, “You get all this, and HIV negative. Guaranteed.”

Sunday, January 26, 2020

Holy cow... I finally discovered how to get Blogger to let me comment on my own blog. Had to Google it to find out how. So if you're having the same problem, this is how to fix it. See that little shield up there next to the padlock on the https thing? You have to click on it and then grant permissions for a site so you can comment. I've had to undo it and redo it more than once. Maybe it's a Firefox thing, or maybe it's my Bitdefender security, but it's kind of annoying. This is probably old news to a lot of people, but I wasn't blogging much when this update happened, which is partly why I never really started posting again.

I just sent out a newsletter announcing the pre-orders for Out of Bounds. Got a few clicks, one pre-order and several unsubscribes. Those unsubscribes are the main reason I don't send newsletters very often. I know most of the unsubscribes come from people who signed up in order to qualify during a giveaway and really don't have any interest in what's happening with me or any books I might have written, but it's still depressing to think that the only response my newsletters get is to say that they're unwanted. The last newsletter I sent was for Maverick's release, which was in September of 2018--I didn't bother to send out a newsletter for Mystic's release--so no one can say I've been spamming them. Although the test emails I sent to myself wound up in my spam folder, which possibly means I've been spamming myself.

Maybe this writer thing is getting too be too much for an old woman. I'm 64 now, the thought of which makes the Beatles' "When I'm 64" start playing in my head. I don't mind that so much, because I've always liked that song, but it makes me think about the differences between what I enjoy now and what I've enjoyed in the past. Right now, I just want to make things, and it doesn't seem to matter whether they're things to eat, read, or use. I've been making soap for a while, but lately I've been making various skincare concoctions, most of which I wouldn't need if I wasn't 64. My skin has lost much of its elasticity, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm losing hair faster than I can regrow it. As a result, I've been spending more time scrolling through Pinterest looking for recipes and diy stuff than I do writing romance novels.

All of this adds up to a case of the wintertime blues, which is why I believe Valentine's Day was deemed necessary. By the time March rolls around, you know spring is getting close, but in February, the only sign of spring will be that my one remaining horse, Jadzia, (Kes died in December *sniff*) will start shedding. In fact, here in the final days of January, she's already started, just as I have started making Valentine's soap.

Wednesday, January 22, 2020

Oh, my...
It's been a long, damn time since I posted a blog here. So long, in fact, that I doubt if anyone will even see this.

2019 wasn't the best year of my life. Last Christmas, I started having stomach trouble and was diagnosed with gastritis. I had an EGD for that, and then a CT scan and all sorts of other tests after blood showed up in my urine, for which no cause was ever found. To treat the gastritis, I was told not to eat spicy food, chocolate, caffeine, or acidic foods, which, as you know, are many of the things that make life worth living. I was also instructed to take sucralafate 1 hour before meals, which is kinda tricky, especially on those days when I had no idea exactly when my next meal would be. I got a little better, but the problem never really went away. Most days I felt tired and nauseated, and the very last thing I felt like doing was sitting down at my computer to write. I read a lot, but tended to fall asleep in my recliner on most afternoons.

At the RWA conference in NYC this past July, I received some motivation
and encouragement from my writer pals to work on an old manuscript since I
couldn't seem to finish a new one. I pulled out the file for Out of
Bounds, an MMF romance I'd written several years ago. At the time, it
was a departure for me to write a menage, but it was also written in
first person from the point of view of an ex pro quarterback. I had a
lot of fun writing it, but because Sourcebooks wasn't quite ready to
publish an MMF romance, it's been languishing in my files ever since. When
I started working on it, I discovered that even if I couldn't write anything
new, I could at least edit what I'd already written. I gave it a good
polish and sent it through a round of edits from my team of excellent critique
partners.

Then, on a follow up visit a couple of months ago, my doctor decided that since I was still having periodic episodes of stomach trouble, I likely had gastroparesis from being diabetic for roughly ten years, rather than gastritis. Basically, the vagus nerve, which does a lot of other important stuff, is responsible for telling the stomach when to empty, and with gastroparesis, it occasionally forgets to do its job, and anything I've eaten just sits there, causing an assortment of symptoms. He told me to wean off the sucralafate and eat small frequent meals. It's taken a while, but the stomach thing finally settled down to the point that I didn't feel queasy anymore, although I was still tired all the time and more than a little depressed.

After a bit of research, I discovered that the metformin I've been
taking for years to control my diabetes was probably the cause of my
mental fog. Without a small dose of caffeine in the morning, I didn't
feel like doing anything, and even though metformin is reputed to increase life expectancy, the thought of living another twenty years in a fog wasn't terribly appealing. Then about a week ago, I decided my stomach could probably handle a fourth of a caffeine pill, and, surprise, surprise, my brain started working again. I finished the formatting and uploading and tweaking of Out of Bounds today, and hit the publish button on all the usual sites.

Out of Bounds will be released on February 4, 2020, which would have been my mother's 90th birthday had she not died from lung cancer at the age of 47. I doubt that the subject matter would've been a favorite with her, but it seemed fitting, somehow. It's already available for preorderfrom Amazon. B&N says it's ready, but as I write this, the link they sent me doesn't work. Maybe by tomorrow.

Anyway, here's a little bit about the book...

"Captivating!
Prepare to read in one sitting." --TC Winters

He fell for
another man.
Then he met
the perfect woman...

After a
career-ending injury, ex-quarterback Kyle Sorenson finds himself crammed into a
tiny office with the adorable David Adams. Falling for another man is a first
for Kyle, and he is determined to hide his feelings until David makes a play
for him.

With David
as his partner, Kyle is happier than he's ever been-until Linda Nelson comes on
the scene. Once again, Kyle resolves to deny the attraction, but David insists
that the three of them can have it all.

Happiness is
almost within reach when unforeseen events threaten to destroy everything. Now
the men must prove to Linda that taking on two husbands won't be the biggest
mistake of her life.

Tuesday, January 29, 2019

Mysticmay
be the second book in the Cat Star Legacy series (the twelfth in the
Cat Star Chronicles world), but it marks the first to have a guy on the
cover who actually looks like an alien! Granted, he doesn't have the
long spiral curls of the typical Zetithian, but check out the cat-like
eyes and pointed ears!

Not only that, it's also the first of my books to get a reasonably good review from Publishers Weekly. (Read the full review here).

I've
been having some health issues lately, so perhaps I haven't been as
enthusiastic about this release as I have been with other books, but the
release of a new book is still a big deal, and spotting your book in
Barnes & Noble or Walmart is pretty damn cool. I recall getting a
bit weak in the knees when I first found Slave (Cat Star Chronicles #1) in my local B&N. That doesn't happen anymore, and although Mystic
could end up being my last published book (I'm working on a third in
the series, but it's nowhere near ready to send to an editor), I believe
it's one of my best.

Anthropologist Sulaksha Enduran
is still reeling from the death of her lover, who died as they studied the
primitive inhabitants of a newly discovered planet. Sula is determined to find
answers on her own—until an impossibly sexy Zetithian saves her life and joins
her quest.

Despite the prescient abilities
and power over the wind that enable Zetithian mystic Aidan Banadänsk to rescue the
human woman from certain death, he couldn’t predict Sula’s unique effect on him.
It shrouds her future in mystery…and fills him with unparalleled desire.

But Sula’s investigation has put
her in the crosshairs of a deadly conspiracy. With an entire planet’s population
at stake, Sula and Aidan must risk it all to save the planet, the galaxy…and
each other…

Chapter 1

In a vision, Aidan had watched her fall, disappearing through a
fissure in the rock as the ground gave way beneath her, her screams
reverberating through his mind like the tumbling roar of an avalanche.

Although most people would’ve dismissed it as a dream, he knew the
terrifying vision for what it was: a portent of a future event, which was not
uncommon among his kind. Therefore, she hadn’t fallen—yet. The trouble was he
didn’t know whether he was supposed to prevent the accident or rescue her after
she fell.

He’d spent the last week flying over the cliffs, his keen eyes
searching the jumbled boulders for any sign that she’d ever been there. Thus
far, he’d found nothing. No trace of any life aside from the cliff-dwelling
condors and the assorted rodents that were widespread in the remote mountains
of Rhylos.

But the vision… He’d seen it four times now. This was the right
place. He was certain of it. More certain, perhaps, than he’d ever been of
anything.

He skimmed over the plateau before swooping down over the edge of
the cliffs—jagged rock fit only as a nesting place for the huge condors, which
had been named for an extinct Terran species. Some said they looked similar,
and, having seen pictures, he agreed. However, these birds were even larger than
the original condors had been, and they defended their nests with a ferocity
few avian species could match.

His vision had been maddeningly vague. He should’ve at least known
why she was there. Was she studying the condors? Or was she simply trying to find
their nests in order to steal the eggs? He couldn’t think of any other reasons
why anyone would venture so far from civilization to this, one of the few
uninhabited regions of the planet. Neither of those reasons seemed important
enough to warrant a vision. Visions came when they wished; he had no control
over their timing or their topics. The only thing he could control was the
wind, enabling him to don a pair of wings and create updrafts strong enough to
carry him aloft.

Only Valkyrie, the Avian clone, knew of his flights. Val would’ve
hidden his own talent if he’d been able to remove his wings, but his were as
much a part of him as his other limbs. No genetic manipulations could undo what
had already been done to him.

As Aidan flew back up the cliff face, a flash of light on the
plateau caught his eye—the effect of sunlight on metal. Something was moving
down there. Something he’d only seen because of his vantage point high in the
sky.

And there she is…

How he’d missed her before he couldn’t imagine, especially on the
open mountainside, unless it wasn’t quite as open as it appeared. As she
climbed up the edge of the plateau as though ascending a staircase, the air
crackled around him like a thousand tiny lightning bolts. The moment had come.

He flew lower, hovering effortlessly, letting the wind do the work
while he studied her approach. A backpack and other accoutrements were strapped
to her upper body. Everything she wore—from her wide-brimmed hat, leather
jacket, and khaki trousers, down to a pair of dusty boots suitable for
climbing—was the same color as the rocks, causing her to blend in with her
surroundings in a manner that seemed strangely covert.

A visual sweep of the plain revealed no speeder or other conveyance
nearby. Had she hiked into the wilderness?

When she looked up, his eyes met hers—huge, expressive, and
brown—with an impact that nearly caused him to fall out of the sky.

In the split second before he shouted a warning, she slipped from
view, leaving nothing behind beyond a puff of dust that feathered away to
nothingness even as he plummeted toward her, his heart pounding like a drum. He
chastised himself as he flew; he’d assumed he was there to save her when, in
all probability, he’d actually been the cause of her misstep.

A condor’s harsh cry made him alter his route from the plateau where
she’d disappeared down to the opening in the cliff face and the cavern into
which she had undoubtedly fallen. He soared through the opening just as he’d
seen the condors do. Unfortunately, he’d only come prepared to rescue her,
carrying a knife, a length of rope, a sling made of leather straps and
carabiners, and a comlink. He hadn’t counted on having to get past an angry
condor with murderous talons and a razor-sharp beak.

Correction. Make that two condors
and a nest full of eggs. At least he assumed there
were eggs in the nest. He couldn’t see for sure, although given the female’s
protective stance, he deemed it a safe bet. “Son of a bitch.”

Fortunately, the female seemed disinclined to move from her position
on the nest. The male, however, was already advancing on the woman’s crumpled
body. Against the far wall of the cave below the crack in the plateau, she lay
unmoving amid the rubble that had fallen with her. A soft moan told him she
still lived.

No doubt the condor, which was easily twice her size, intended to
change that.

Focusing his attention on the huge bird, he created a gust of wind
with a sweep of his arm, sending the condor fluttering to the side of the cave
where his nest and mate were situated between two upright slabs of rock.

Undaunted and angrier than ever, the condor hissed and began
stalking toward him. Aidan really didn’t like the idea of killing or even
injuring the bird, but he might not have a choice. Taking advantage of the
bird’s position, which was now between him and the mouth of the cave, he
created another gust that sent the bird flapping out into the open air.

One glance was enough to inform him that this woman was quite small.
Val could’ve carried her easily. Never having flown with more than his own
weight, Aidan wasn’t sure he was up to the task. His own physical strength
wasn’t the only factor. The wings and their harness were sturdy but not
unbreakable. Not for the first time, he wished his wings were a part of him the
way Val’s were, although when it came to sitting and sleeping, wings large
enough to enable a man to fly tended to get in the way.

Upon reaching her side, he recoiled immediately when he spotted what
he took to be a snake but was actually a leather bullwhip.

He almost laughed aloud. “Who do
you think you are? Indiana Jones?”

Upon closer inspection, her outfit was exactly the same as that worn
by the fictional archaeologist. For trekking through the mountains, such garb
was quite practical, although the resemblance to “Indy” ended there. She was
small and undeniably female, with shiny black hair that had been braided back
from her face and pinned into a twisted knot at her nape. His gaze swept over
her exotically beautiful face, taking in the rich brown of her skin, the
fullness of her lips, and the lovely arch of her brows.

“No,” she murmured. “I am Sula.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she let
out a gasp. “Are you an angel, come to take me to Raj?”

Given his feathered wings and long, golden curls, her assumption was
reasonable enough, although not many people believed in angels anymore.

“Hadn’t planned on it,” he replied. “Who’s Raj?”

***

An angel wouldn’t have asked who Raj was. An
angel would’ve known.

Then again, he hadn’t said whether he was an angel. He’d only claimed
he wasn’t planning to take her to Raj.

Pain soon expunged any doubts from Sula’s mind. Had she been on her
way to the afterlife prior to being reincarnated into another form, she doubted
the body of her current life would’ve troubled her quite so much. Therefore, he
was no angel—certainly not like any angel she’d ever heard about.

Nor was he like any living being she’d ever seen. A man with pointed
ears, feline eyes, and enormous wings? Unless the wings weren’t real. They’d
certainly looked real when he’d been sailing through the sky above her. Plenty
of black and gray white-tipped feathers, arranged row upon row like those of a
bird. Or was she confusing him with the birds in the cave? In the short time
before she’d passed out, she’d seen drawings of them on the cave wall, being
hunted by primitive humanoids. She’d finally found the evidence she’d been
searching for.

The question was, could she ever find it again?

The warm sunshine beating down on her face was proof enough that she
was no longer in the cave. She wasn’t lying in a pile of stones, either. The
ground beneath her was relatively soft, and a gentle breeze carried the
fragrance of fresh, green grass to her nose—a smell quite unlike the dank odor
peculiar to caves, particularly those inhabited by birds.

Her leg still pained her, although she could tell that it was at
least lying straight. The initial shock of the break that had brought on her
fainting spell had passed. She was thirsty, almost to the point that her tongue
seemed cemented to the roof of her mouth. An attempt to moisten her lips
failed.

Within moments, a hand slipped behind her head, and a cup was held
to her lips. As the cool water soothed her parched mouth, she recalled doing
the same for Raj in the last hours of his life.

Dear, sweet Raj. So intelligent, such a promising student, and the
one man she would never forget. The love of her life—or rather, the lostlove of her life—and she’d had to watch him die.

She’d been helpless to prevent his death or even ease his suffering.
The aftereffects of the disease were nearly as bad. Within hours, even his body
was gone; nothing remained of him aside from the clothes he’d been wearing and
a pile of dust that was soon scattered by the wind.

Surrounded by an eerie silence, she’d returned to their ship. Purely
out of habit, she’d gone through the decontamination process. The scanner
proclaimed her to be free of disease, although she hadn’t been sure she could
trust even that. She and Raj had gone through a similar process prior to their
departure, and yet Raj had been among the first to fall ill. They’d had minimal
contact with the natives, observing rather than interacting with them directly.
Granted, they’d barely begun their study before Raj began to feel sick, but on
the whole, the natives had seemed industrious and intelligent and appeared to
live together in relative harmony. Rather strange in appearance, perhaps, but
that was to be expected.

Not nearly as strange as her rescuer. Despite being somewhat afraid
to take another look, she opened her eyes a teensy bit.

The wings were gone.

So they weren’t real after all.

The long golden curls remained, as did the peculiar eyes. Rather
than the usual dark, round pupils, his were vertical slits that emitted a soft,
golden glow. His ears came to a point like those of a storybook elf, and a pair
of straight brows slanted up toward his temples.

“Glad you’re awake,” he said. Then he smiled, revealing his sharp
fangs.

A scream had nearly left her throat when she remembered something
from her studies that caused her to gasp instead—a textbook description of a
nearly extinct species of feline humanoids.

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

This year, instead of the more traditional holiday fare, I went with a family favorite that I discovered in a copy of Midwest Living many years ago. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as we do!

Mrs. C’s Sausage and Spinach Pie

Ingredients:

1 lb bulk Italian sausage

6 eggs

20 oz chopped frozen spinach, thawed and drained well

2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese

2/3 cup ricotta or cottage cheese

½ tsp salt

1/8 tsp garlic powder

1/8 tsp pepper

Pastry for a two-crust pie

1 tbsp water

Directions:

1.In skillet, brown sausage, drain off fat.

2.Separate one of the eggs. Set yolk aside. In a
large mixing bowl, stir together the remaining eggs, the egg white, spinach,
mozzarella, ricotta, salt, garlic powder, and pepper. Stir in cooked sausage.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

For a limited time, the ebook versions of every Cat Star Chronicles title are on sale! The new prices should be posted by the end of this week. You'll find links to most platforms on my Cat Star Chronicles website page.

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Welcome to my blog!

Notice I don't call it a lair. I like to think you can have good fun without so much mystique. All you need are some sweet, adorable, sensuous guys to curl up with forever!

I'm a romance writer, a former critical care nurse, and an avid cook, so you'll be getting little bits of each from time to time. I also have a few cats, dogs, and horses around here, so you might see them once in a while. too. If there are any topics you'd like me to address, just post a comment and ask for it, and I'll give it a shot! We bloggers all love comments, so don't be shy!